Chapter Text
Quidditich was a sport and even at the age of thirteen, Kageyama was endlessly irritated by people who treated it like child’s game. If you weren’t doing your best to win, if you weren’t pushing yourself to the brink, why were you even playing?
Kageyama flew to the far-right hoop, catching the quaffle with ease, smirking smugly at the chaser that thought he wasn’t paying attention to that hoop. He was always paying attention. He lived and breathed for these moments, for these games. He won’t lose to anyone.
He circled around the goalposts and looked out at the layout of players. Only one of his chasers was open. One of the beaters, Kunimi, was flying towards a bludger to try and free up more options. Kindaichi was the right call, the only call, but he had an opposing chaser hot on his twigs. He needed to dive down. That’s where he needed to be so that’s where Kageyama threw the quaffle.
He tossed to Kindaichi, who was several feet away from where Kageyama had tossed the ball, from where he should have been to receive Kageyama’s toss.
Kindaichi dove sharply and barely caught the quaffle, glanced at Kageyama over his shoulder, and shouted, “Stop tossing like that! What’s the point if I can’t catch the quaffle?”
He didn’t have time to shout out his reasoning before tossing out the quaffle, or use those hand symbols like Sugawara did to alert the chasers where to be. If their chaser didn’t get the quaffle as soon as possible and start down the Pitch, the other team would catch up and make it harder to score. The other team may even intercept the toss and be in the perfect position to score again.
They needed to be faster to win. Why couldn’t the chasers see that? Why couldn’t they fly faster? Why couldn’t they think like him?
“Faster!” Kageyama roared, though no one was listening. Kindaichi was already flying down the Pitch with the quaffle. Kageyama increased his voice so they could hear it across the Pitch, “Fly faster! If you want to win, listen to me!”
Several minutes later, the quaffle made its way back to Kageyama’s goals. Kageyama watched the red ball as it was passed between the opposing chasers. Where was Kunimi with the bludgers? Why wasn’t he aiming them at the opponents? He knew Kunimi was lazy, but had he just given up this match?
The opponent tossed the quaffle towards the center goal, but Kageyama easily caught it against his chest. He didn’t look to where he was going to toss. His team knew where to go in this situation, but when Kageyama tossed the quaffle, there was no one there to catch it.
The quaffle fell through the air towards the ground without being caught.
Kageyama’s heart thudded dully in his chest. He felt disoriented, as though he may fall off his broom.
Why hadn’t anyone been there to catch the quaffle? What hadn’t someone caught his toss? Where was his team?
Kageyama turned his head from side to side, looking for his chasers. They were just hovering there, not moving, not even close to where they should be. They remained still in the air as the other team swooped in, grabbing the falling quaffle. They did not pursue the opposing chasers and the beaters did not aim bludgers their way, staying as stubbornly still as the chasers.
His entire team had given up the match.
No, Kageyama realized as a sense of horror washed over him.
They had given up on their keeper.
They had given up on him.